


I Wash, You Dry

by E_Salvatore



Series: Tagged: TBTP Tumblr Fics [3]
Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: F/M, Marceline AKA Mama Reagan, Tumblr Fic, plotless pointless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5775352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_Salvatore/pseuds/E_Salvatore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And now, the story of how Alex and Strand got engaged while doing the dishes in her mom's kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wash, You Dry

The thing about Christmas dinner in the Reagan house is that you never quite know what to expect. It’s a respectably-sized house with a reasonably big dining table that works just fine for the rest of the year but there’s simply no accommodating the extended Reagan clan, especially with the way it’s been growing in recent years.

So here’s how Christmas dinner works: you grab a plate, pile it up with the dozens of dishes set up buffet-style on the dining table and just sit… wherever. If you’re lucky, there’ll be a free spot in the living room. Maybe you can sit on the stairs. The kids take to eating on the floor, legs crossed and plates carefully balanced on their knees or in their laps. Some of the aunts and cousins retreat to the kitchen, leaning against the kitchen island with plates in hand. If the weather isn’t absolutely ridiculous (a rarity, given that it’s Canada in December), some of the men might choose to eat on the patio.

It’s a far cry from quiet, intimate gatherings thrown by fellow faculty members but Strand finds he actually prefers the Reagan family’s annual Christmas dinner, which he has been lucky enough to be invited to three years in a row now. There’s something precious about how comfortable and familiar it all is, to have Alex sitting as close as possible to him (it’s a tight fit, having five people on a three-seater) with her head on his shoulder while she laughs at her father’s jokes and catches up with her cousins, waves off her aunt’s not-so-subtle questions about the possibility of children and regales everyone with tales of their latest adventures in ghost hunting. What’s even better is the way her father winks at Strand when his joke is so bad Alex groans at it, the easy familiarity with which her cousins greet him, the teasing and light-hearted needling they use to cajole him into adding his own two cents to Alex’s stories.

Alex’s taste for ghost stories must run in the family, because the Reagans can’t get enough of their impromptu story-time. It takes him half an hour before he spots an opportunity to escape, and that comes courtesy of Alex’s mother.

“Oh, Mom,” Alex says when she notices her mother walking around the living room to collect empty plates. The younger children groan at the abrupt pause in Alex’s thrilling account of the _Ongoing Saga of Tall Paul, Part III_ and whine Alex’s name until their parents hush them. “Here, I’ll help you with that.” 

Marceline shakes her head with a smile. “Those kids _need_ you to finish your story, dear. Richard, would you mind helping me with the dishes instead?” It’s certainly unexpected, but Strand isn’t about to turn down a chance to excuse himself. His only regret will be giving up his spot next to Alex, but the evening is almost over anyway.

“Not at all,” He assures Marceline with a smile that only grows brighter when Alex shoots him a smile of her own, bright and thankful. Strand holds out a hand for her plate and goes on to collect everyone else’s used dishes, juggling a small stack of plates and bowls as he follows Marceline to the kitchen. There aren’t any towering piles of dishes (as one might expect from a gathering of this size), but they’ll still be here for a while. Given that Alex’s parents frequently host family dinners, investing in a dishwasher would seem like the smart thing to do. But during his first visit, Marceline had confided in him that she enjoys the peace and quiet of something as simple as washing dishes by hand, and the hour or so of silence that it buys her while the rest of the family parties on.

“Here,” Marceline hands him a dishtowel as soon as he sets down his half of the dishes. “I wash, you dry.” Strand nods to indicate his agreement and they quickly get to work, settling into a comfortable silence punctuated only by the sound of running water and the clinking of porcelain. As soon as they slip into a mindless routine, Marceline begins to make idle conversation to pass the time.

“How are you enjoying the party, Richard?”

That had taken some getting used to – having people other than Alex calling him by his first name. It’s been a while, to say the least. Even his closest acquaintances and colleagues choose to refer to him by his last name, but it would hardly be right to insist that Alex’s parents do the same. “It’s been a wonderful evening, as usual. Is it just me, or does this family get bigger with every passing year?”

Marceline hands him another plate with a laugh. “It’s the Golden Age all over again. Just as you get the last of the kids packed up and sent off to college, the older ones start bringing home their own kids. Next thing you know, all of your babies have little babies of their own.”

“That explains it,” Strand replies carefully, hoping to avoid the part where Marceline wonders out loud when it’ll be Alex’s turn to bring home a child of her own. Thankfully, she steers the conversation away from _that_ subject, completely of her own accord.

“Well, I suppose you _would_ have noticed our growing numbers. This is,” She pauses, probably double-checking her memories before she goes on, “your third year with us now, isn’t it?”

Strand nods; it’s hard to believe that this is already his third Christmas with the Reagan family.

“Looks like you’ll be sticking around then,” Marceline comments, her voice deceptively casual. Her next words carry the same nonchalant note: “So, any plans to make an honest woman of my daughter?”

He nearly drops a plate, fingers suddenly going slack with shock. “Excuse me?”

“Look,” Marceline sighs and turns to face him, dishes momentarily abandoned. “I like you, Richard – I really do. But I need to look out for Alex, okay? Life chews us up and spits us out all the time and there’s nothing wrong with being a little broken and bruised, but my daughter deserves more than a once bitten, twice shy fixer-upper. So I need to know: are you dragging around some sort of baggage that’s going to make you break my daughter’s heart?”

Alex may look like her mother, but her blunt manner of speaking is all her father’s. Marceline may seem like she gets straight to the point but there’s always something else hidden within her words, an unspoken message to decipher. It takes a while for Strand to figure out just what she’s getting at. “You think I won’t marry Alex because of the way my first marriage turned out?” He’s too shocked to be offended by Marceline’s (admittedly accurate) description of him.

Marceline shrugs; something in his voice or perhaps in the incredulous look he shoots her garners him an apologetic half-smile. “Well, what else could it be?”

“Anything but that,” Strand quickly assures her. The last thing he needs is for Marceline to misunderstand him and for word to get back to Alex that he’s still holding on to Coralee and his past.

“So what _is_ it?” Marceline presses on. “The two of you aren’t getting any younger, you kno-” She interrupts herself mid-sentence, a thought having occurred to her. “Richard, if it’s our blessing you’re waiting for – you’ve had it for a while now.”

Well, that might be the most surprising thing about this conversation. “That’s… good to know.” He picks his words carefully. “I know I’m not what you would have chosen for her-”

“Oh, stop that!” Marceline swats at him with a wet (thankfully, soap-free) hand. “That’s the kind of thinking that can poison a relationship. If it were up to me, I would have chosen someone who makes my daughter happy. Knowing what I know now, having seen what I’ve seen – I’m quite certain you would have been my first choice.”

It takes him a while to compose himself. “That… means a lot, coming from you. Thank you, Marceline.”

She dismisses the sentiment with an impatient wave. “So?”

“I’m sorry,” Strand starts, getting back to work on the ever-growing stack of clean plates. “I really do appreciate this, but I’m afraid you’re talking to the wrong person. It’s not _me_ you need to convince.”

“What?”

“To be honest, Marceline,” He can’t help but laugh at the look on her face. “If it were up to me, I’d marry Alex in a heartbeat; I’m just not sure she feels the same way. I’m not exactly the kind of person anyone would want to bind themselves to for life.” Marceline doesn’t look particularly pleased but as far as Strand’s concerned, that’s simply a fact. He’s a self-described professional paranormal skeptic with a dead wife, an estranged daughter and an alarming number of death threats directed at him and his loved ones; Alex deserves so much better than that.

 _“Merde,_ ” Marceline mutters under her breath, completing the effect with a roll of her eyes.

Well, you don’t even have to know French to understand that, though Strand does have a good grasp on the language; Alex as well, which had been surprising until she’d informed him that her mother is a retired French teacher. Still, Marceline doesn’t exactly make a habit of muttering French curses under her breath for no reason. “Excuse me?”

“You two are complete _idiots_ ,” She huffs, turning to look Strand in the eye. “Now you listen to me, and listen closely. I’m not in the habit of doing something like this but _clearly_ the both of you need some sort of push, so I’m going to tell you something Alex would probably rather I not.”

“Marceline, I don’t think-”

“She’ll thank me for it later,” Marceline claims. “Look, Alex calls me sometimes – usually when you’re in Chicago or away for work.”

“I know,” Strand frowns, failing to see where Marceline is going with this. “It’s too quiet for her when she’s the only one at home, and you know she doesn’t like being alone. I imagine she makes quite a few calls whenever I’m not around.”

Marceline rolls her eyes. “Oh, hush. No interruptions,” She warns him, waiting for him to nod in agreement before she goes on. “Alex doesn’t call me for idle chit-chat. She calls me as a daughter seeking comfort and reassurance from her mother.”

“But what-”

“She thinks she’s never going to be enough,” Marceline refuses to give him a chance to speak. “I know you would never compare Alex to your first wife,” Now is probably not a good time to remind Marceline of Coralee’s name. “But Alex does enough of that for the both of you. She’s constantly worrying that she won’t be able to keep up with you – apparently the both of you were scholars and writers?”

Strand can only nod, stunned into silence by the troubling discovery that Alex feels the need to measure herself against Coralee. Even more troubling is the possibility that he might be responsible for that – has he ever said or done anything that would have made her feel this way?

Marceline isn’t quite done yet. “The way she sees it, she’s just a journalist turned podcast host – her words, by the way – who’s never home, who’s constantly working and dropping in and out of her own home, spending less time there than she does hunting down promising leads and interviewing people of interest. And according to her, _that_ doesn’t sound like someone anyone would want to bind themselves to for life.” She gives Strand a pointed look as she parrots his own words from earlier.

“So, like I said: you two are complete idiots.”

“I… that is,” Strand clears his throat to buy himself some time as he tries to organize his thoughts. “She-”

Just then, Alex herself pokes her head into the kitchen. “Hey, Dad wants everyone in the living room for caro- am I interrupting something?”

“Oh, not at all, dear,” Marceline assures her daughter with a smile. “Actually, would you mind finishing up for me? I should see if your father needs any help setting things up.”

“Sure,” Alex agrees easily, making her way into the kitchen. “We’ll just wrap things up here and see you guys in a while. Feel free to go ahead without us,” She tells her mother, coming to stand next to Strand. After a quick thank-you, Marceline leaves them to their own devices.

“Sorry you got dragged into doing the dishes,” Alex grins, playfully bumping her shoulder against his before she gets to work on the remaining plates.

“It’s not a problem,” Strand tells her, throwing in some semblance of a smile. Hopefully Alex won’t realize that he’s too distracted to even give her an actual smile; there’s just too much for him to process and it certainly doesn’t help that Alex is right next to him, standing much closer than her mother had.

“Alex?”

“Hmm?” She hums distractedly, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn clump of dried pasta on a serving spoon.

“How do you feel about marriage?”

She drops the spoon back into its bath of warm, soapy dishwater. “In general,” Alex speaks a few seconds later, reaching into the water for the spoon. “Or…?”

His heart is pounding (that’s not good for a man his age, is it?), his stomach feels uneasy (everyone eats too much at Christmas dinner, right?) and – oh, why not? “Would you like to get married?”

When Alex sighs, it feels like the world comes to a sudden, sickening, lurching stop.

“Did my mom put you up to this? Look, I don’t want her to talk you into anything or make you feel like you _have_ to-”

“Alex-”

“Alex?”

“ _Alex_.” It takes three tries before she realizes that he’s trying to get her attention. “Your mother and I did discuss marriage, but I assure you this has nothing to do with that.”

“So you just spontaneously decided to propose while we’re doing the dishes in my mom’s kitchen?” Over the years, Alex has taken to wearing skepticism as naturally as he does. It becomes her, as most things do, but this is no time to commit to memory the little frown tugging at her lips and the challenging look in her eyes.

“There’s a ring in my nightstand, at home,” Strand tells her evenly. “It’s been there since your birthday, and it’s yours if you want it.”

“Oh.”

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him at the sight of Alex’s face, eyes wide with surprise as she scrambles to come up with the right words.

Eventually, she offers him a smile. “I’d like that.”

And just like that, it feels like the weight of the last twenty years has been lifted off his shoulders. “Alright,” Strand says, because he can’t say much else thanks to the ridiculously wide smile on his face.

“Alright,” Alex nods with a matching grin. “I’d kiss you, but-” She holds up her soapy hands with a shrug.

Strand pulls her in for a kiss anyway, and doesn’t even complain when she laughs at the bubbles in his hair afterward.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this was a Tumblr fic that got out of control. What was supposed to be 500 words ended up closer to 2500. Sorry for OOC content, excessive fluff and general cringe-worthiness.


End file.
